


Paint Your Heart

by WrynnsBlade



Series: Paint Your Journey [1]
Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en, 西遊 | Journey to the West (Chow Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-04-26 09:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14399709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrynnsBlade/pseuds/WrynnsBlade
Summary: Each day, a new color comes to color your image. Bit by bit, it's a kaleidoscope of colors that make up the spectrum of you.





	1. Gainsboro

         Once their journey began, Sanzang knew it’d be a trying one. WuKong the clever monkey, had always managed to wiggle and wriggle his way free of certain doom. This punishment was of no exception—the monkey whose pride exceeded his will to live, now travelling with him in order to become a better person—hadn’t even thanked him. Not verbally, at least.

         Sanzang always found a stray, fresh banana in his pack or a sweet and unbruised persimmon hiding in his money pouch. Never a single peach to be found, and he wonders if the male was sick of the damned things at this point. But he’d be lying if he said he trusted his eldest disciple. Every mishap, every action, and Sanzang could swear every breath the furry disciple took was used in trying to make them forfeit their efforts. Though the monk kept a close eye on him, he’s sure that WuKong _always_ had a backup plan just in case. With this in mind, he wonders if the monkey relishes being the center of his attention at almost all times. Dancing on such a fine wire, the monkey seemed to consider it a game of how much he could get away with before he was punished.

         Sanzang catches himself peering at the disciple who sat away from him this time, and sighs. His heart still aches, still burns with the somewhat fresh knowledge that he loved and lost Duan. As a sign of forgiveness, the monk gave the King a treasured family heirloom. It rested on his head as a crown, and served as a reminder to practice his forgiveness for such a butcher.

         If he were truthful, it was merely attempts of forgiveness. He kept the truth privately buried in his aching heart because he was low key, but he can’t help the bitterness that threatened his patience every now and then. Perhaps that’s why the punishment WuKong had received last was so much more brutal than what was deserved. It was also the cause for the monkey to sit away from the group as he was, hunched over a plate of food he was steadily eating.

         “Master,” his youngest disciple murmurs as soon as Pigsy leaves the group to join his eldest brother. He hadn’t noticed Sandy’s approach, and felt a little bad about it, knowing that the youngest disciple deserved better than that. Of all the disciples he had, Sandy understood him best. The water demon, being of a simple mind and wearing his heart on his sleeve, he was always the best behaved of this group of delinquents. “This disciple has a question. I am of a simple mind, and only want simple things. Food, water, and to be able to rest at the end of the day.” Pausing, the water demon seems to be struggling to gather himself.

         Despite he’d turned into a demon purely for revenge on his village’s wrongful punishments, he was still very much human at heart. Sanzang wonders if the water demon even noticed such things or knew of them. “But this one can tell that you’re still struggling deeply with something. I am not good with matters of the heart, or matters humans find important, but I can give an ear to listen to your troubles. Is there something this lowly disciple can do for you?” The monk would be lying if he’d said he wasn’t pleased with how this disciple was turning out in comparison to his brothers.

         Privately, he wished that WuKong would take such initiative. And, after considering a caring King, he can’t seem to shake the odd way it made his heart begin to race. The selfish king, the butcher of Heaven and monkey priding himself on all the chaos he caused… _Caring_? Such an image must’ve inspired fear to cause his heart to race so! His eyes trailing over for a moment to check on the monkey, he sees that the eldest disciple was immersed in a conversation with Pigsy. His body was carefully angled, and Sanzang knows it’s also to cover his still smarting side. The whip bite _hard_ into the monkey’s right side that day, and though the ache is still there, it could only be a temporary deterrent.

         “WuJing,” the monk replies. “I appreciate your concern. This master finds it difficult to handle his grief that lingers on top of his duties and journey. I try to keep it low key, but I’ve found that I’m struggling with such a burden.” His shoulders slumping, the monk appears tired. A regular human with too much on his plate, the man is nearly defeated by his inadequacy. “If I’d gone on this journey by myself, I’d be halfway there by now. As it stands, I’m no where even close to a quarter finished, and it seems as though your brothers will be fighting me every inch, every step of the way to retrieve these sutras to deliver truth to humans. It leaves a bitter feeling behind.” Frowning, he wonders if he’s oversharing.

         WuJing dips his head, and the monk knows that unloading such complicated matters onto the fish might overwhelm the youngest disciple. He opens his mouth to correct himself, but WuJing simply nods. “You still mourn for Miss Duan, yes?” Closing his mouth, Sanzang finds that he can only nod. “It’s hard to lose someone you care for. Brother Sun was cruel. But Master, he’s always been cruel. He’s always been selfish. That’s not something easily changed. Perhaps, instead, you could appeal to his selfishness and his cruelty. This might make it easier for you.” Opening his mouth once more, the monk finds himself being cut off by his youngest disciple’s low chuckle. “But that wouldn’t do for the sake of teaching him kindness. Just keep fighting, Master. It isn’t a losing battle if you’re able to keep striding forward.”

         Feeling a pair of eyes on him, Sanzang turns his head. Yellow eyes, curious and gleaming, are peering at both himself and WuJing. His posture was relaxed, but Sanzang can pick out the parts that were ever prepared to jump up at a moment’s notice. Pigsy soon takes notice and shares a look with WuJing. Neither of them could decipher the silent communication between their master and eldest brother. Eventually, he deigns to join them at the table, and WuKong props his head atop his hand, his eyes half lidded. It gives him a lazy sort of look, a _bored_ sort of look, as if he were merely speaking to the monk because he had nothing better to do.

         He could cause offense by simply _staring_ and body posture. It was little wonder that the monkey could cause such an affront to the Heavens. “Hey boss,” he drawls out. “Pigsy and I couldn’t come to a conclusion. What’s the best method for dealing with the demons we come across?” Wondering what the possible cause for such a discussion could be, Sanzang frowns. He’s considering his answer when WuKong continues, as if oblivious to how his master was planning his reply. “Pigsy says it’s best to tenderly finish them off. But I think it’s better to get it over with and finish it quickly.”

         Sanzang’s answer comes faster than what he’d anticipated. And he’s firm in his tone, in his decision as it spills from his mouth. “The demons we come across would be better off being educated as to why they were wrong in the first place. Their ignorance is brought about from harsh conditions. If they’re taught to see that there are people in the world trying to make it better, they’d be willing to change and assist in such efforts.” WuKong is silent. Pigsy hides behind his fan, his eyes wide. WuJing had joined the pig’s side, his lips twitching slightly as he makes himself comfortable.

         Yellow eyes, harsh and cold and uncomprehending are staring at the monk as if he’d just stated the most stupidest thing the monkey had ever heard. And he waits, as if prompting the monk to change his answer. “I don’t know if you’re stating that out of pure ignorance, out of pure naiveté, or if you’re just that kind of a fool.” He’s interested now, leaning forward. He’s getting ready to start another argument, his eyes gleaming with the challenge.

         By chance, Sanzang’s eyes catch onto WuJing beginning to itch at an exposed part of his leg. He can see that there’s a small bump there, and immediately pities the fish. Every argument, every single time that Sanzang gets angry and takes it out on the monkey, the fish seemed to break out in hives. And he’s sure that BaJie wouldn’t be able to sleep again tonight if that were the case.

         Holding up his hands, he halts the conversation. It was out of corner for his youngest disciples. They couldn’t do anything to assist either side, and they couldn’t do anything aside from sit and watch as master and disciple argue back and forth with such viciousness it’d make the most hardened of warriors blush. “Another time,” he states. “We’ll pick this up another time. Perhaps when it’s relevant and _not_ outside of hypothetical situations.” But the king isn’t satisfied with that, frowning and settling back down.

         The pout that crosses the monkey’s face sends a shock of pain through the monk’s chest. He hides it well, minus the small jerk he can’t seem to control, but the ache of grief resurfaces. The look is something not unlike what Duan would do. And he finds it hard to breathe through the sharp pain there, as if a dagger had lodged itself in his breastbone and refused to leave. Though the expression is similar, the King looked nothing like Duan. Her filthy, dirt smeared skin was still delicate and pale whereas WuKong’s skin always appeared dark and scarred. Messy, unkempt hair reminded him of the time when he himself had such a privilege. And despite all of this, he can’t seem to pinpoint what it was about the male that made him ache with reminders of a love that no longer belonged to him.

         “But what if I don’t _want_ to wait?” The words filled the monk with a kind of dread. WuKong wasn’t known for his patience, only violence and greed. But he thinks quickly, thinking of what could possibly be used to avoid such an argument before it took place. _Perhaps, instead, you could appeal to his violence and his cruelty. It might make it easier for you_. The words echoed in his mind. And Sanzang realizes that both of those attributes were connected to an integral part of his disciple that WuJing seems to have missed. WuKong is the most prideful creature he’d ever met.

         “Do you really want to risk being _wrong_?” Sanzang states this simply. That there was a **possibility** of the King being wrong, that there could be _doubt_ in his assumptions. “Knowing your string of luck, the next demon that comes along would be the one to join our crusade. And that would prove to be more your detriment, wouldn’t it?” Both of the younger disciples peer between their eldest brother and their master. Wide eyed, BaJie leans towards WuJing and murmurs something that makes WuKong turn his head. The sharp, fork eared monkey narrows his eyes on his younger brothers. He liked to challenge. He liked _receiving_ challenges. To place him in such an awkward position, though, was nearly _humiliating_. That’s unacceptable.

         “How about a _bet_ then?” Turning his head back towards his master, he grins. It’s a sharp, face splitting grin. It’s the kind that makes the monk wonder if it’ll be worth the bet in the first place. “If you’re _correct_ … On the demons wanting to join our crusade for all those righteous reasons, I’ll listen a bit more. I might even _obey_ every now and again. But if you’re _wrong_ …” His grin gets wider, his eyes gleaming at the prospect. “…Don’t worry about such _things_ until we get there.” He’ll dangle a red herring for the monk. Let him get all sorts of worked up for it. He’s sure it’ll fall short, anyways. Nothing to worry over.


	2. Carob

         WuJing’s fingers were digging into his arms, blunt nails scratching frantically at lumpy skin. His skin, blue and scale-less, was broken out in hives, and itched like _crazy._ Bajie touches up his makeup that the dark circles have shown through, the mask of makeup not being thick enough near his eyes to hide the results of his insomnia. The sheer stress was beginning to overwhelm them both. The tension between Sanzang and WuKong was crushing.

         They hadn’t run into a demon per se, but a dragon instead. The dragon had been brilliant, white scales glimmering in the sun and horns so majestic they left the group almost breathless. Until WuKong _exploded_ in a fit of anger and arguments. The explosive disagreement that had burst from their eldest brother was so fierce that the dragon had fled for its life. The damned coward had flown so quickly that there was no hope of recovering him for the group.

         They’d just run off from the circus, Sanzang gathering enough food from the generous people there before WuKong’s display of sheer rebellion. It’d frightened the pitiful mortals so much that the monk had fled from them in shame. Great Sage always loved to cause trouble for the group. Whether it was a matter of entertainment or a matter of pushing his boundaries, his younger brothers were unsure. Perhaps they’d never know. But as it stood, they’ve had to keep moving ever since then, and this was the first stop they’d had to make due to their master’s illness that had started at their time of being in the circus.

          “Maybe Master and WuKong should have a heart to heart.” It’s what falls out of Pigsy’s mouth, what gives WuJing pause in his scratching. “It’ll give us some respite, and maybe things will calm down for a while.” Days. It’d been _days_ since the pig had last seen a wink of sleep. He couldn’t nap. He couldn’t sleep. He thought briefly he was hallucinating when he’d seen WuKong disappear, but it was only because master told them he was off to get medicine did the pig calm down a bit.

         Opening his mouth, WuJing wanted to say it was a foolish idea. Instead, he’s interrupted by a rasping voice. “I apologize.” Their handsome master, still trying to recover from his illness, easily slides into the conversation. “I hadn’t realized our arguments affected you both so.” The monk was ashen, his eyes staring to glaze with his rising temperature. “I should be more mindful of my words and how they’d affect you both when speaking to Pilgrim Sun.” He felt a bit ashamed, if he were honest, with how badly handled the argument had become. He wondered if the monkey would ever return.

         Speaking of the devilish monkey, he appeared. There was no smoke, no telling pull of magic to show that he was coming back. He simply appeared silently and without warning, startling his brothers badly. But the master merely acknowledges the monkey’s return with a nod, far too tired to be frightened. His eyes are curiously gazing at the monkey.

         WuKong produces a bowl, the liquid inside sloshing a bit as it’s offered to Sanzang. Silent, a truce is made when the master accepts it. Oddly enough, the eldest disciple is the first to return after their arguments. He’s the first to offer forgiveness, the first to offer any kind of truce. Though he has an explosive personality, the Great Sage’s temper is rather mild. Perhaps it’s why he was always a great king to demons. Sanzang’s fingers curl around the bowl, accepting it before downing what was inside quickly. Bitter medicine coats his throat, but he manages to suppress his gagging for the moment.

         Despite the clever schemes of the monkey, his younger brothers would agree that he cares most for the monk’s wellbeing. Odd, really, that the monkey would show him such mercies when the monk punishes him so harshly all the time. Their master wasn’t a cruel man, but if Pilgrim Sun angered him, it was harder for Sanzang to calm down. Giving his brothers a look, WuKong jerks his chin at them. The motion isn’t lost on them, and they quickly scurry off, allowing the two time to speak to each other.

         As soon as they were out of sight, WuJing finds that his hives had calmed. Dear Pigsy found himself drowsing against the fish’s shoulder, sleep calling to him as sweetly as any siren would. WuJing sighs, allowing it. If the pig didn’t start sleeping soon, he was worried that the Great Sage would implement some sort of method to _ensure_ that BaJie would catch some shut eye.

         Sanzang would be lying if he said that he ever expected anything to come out of WuKong’s mouth. So, as he brought the waterskin to his mouth, he hadn’t braced himself for what words the monkey would say next. “You don’t forgive me for Duan’s death.” Never, had the monk been prepared so badly for this statement. It’s so harsh, so _cruel_ and callous that it’s like watching Duan being tossed up and turned to dust all over again. The mind-numbing shock of it, the disbelief that he could do something so cruel. But now, as he stares at the monkey, he can only wait.

          “I didn’t expect you to, but isn’t it all supposed to be about greater love, lesser love and forgiveness? What sort of shit is this baldy?” WuKong is frowning, and for a moment, the human disguise slips. Sanzang can see the monkey’s true face, darkened with frustration. “You’re going to leave yourself open because of that, you know. It’ll be your downfall if you don’t let go.” Sanzang’s hand reaches up, and for a moment he wanted to physically beat the damned ape straight into the earth.  How dare he. How _dare_ he take something so fragile as if it were nothing in his paw and try to crush what was left? It began to _rile_ the monk, it began to **rally** the monk into action. But he pauses.

         Golden eyes flick to the man, and for a moment Sanzang realized that his disciple would take the beating. He would take any punishment if it meant that the monk wouldn’t be thinking on the death of the woman he’d loved so much. He realized that the monkey held no fear of him, no regrets for what he did, and would not bow to the idea of pain. “I don’t say that to be cruel,” he finally sighs. “I say it because if _other_ demons find out about such things, they might use the information against you. Matter of fact, I don’t think you’d be ready to meet a _puppet_ of your dead girlfriend. But that’s only the tip of the iceberg of things they would do to _break_ you and **eat** you alive.”

         Concern for the monk, for the leader of the group, in a roundabout way. Poorly stated, poorly formed, but the _idea_ that the monkey would show such a thing almost warmed his heart if he weren’t still in shock. “It’s hard to let go of such grief. You don’t even have an equivalent to such a loss. How could _you_ understand what I’m going through and just **order** me to get over it?” As Sanzang asks this, his tone is quiet. He was angry, and the question was unkind. He knows it was improper, putting his disciple in such a position, but he was only human.

         What happens is this: Sun WuKong plucks a stick, thick and smooth, from the inside of his shirt. It’s placed in the corner of his mouth, his teeth finding a comfortable place to roll over the wood as the Great Sage shifts. He’s getting comfortable, but his eyes squint into the fire, as if he were considering the question and the best way to answer it. He finally makes up his mind, and as Sanzang peers into the same place that his disciple was, he realizes that the monkey was playing with the smoke above the flames, turning it different colors and shapes as he thought. It was a way to gaze into the Great sage’s mind, but the monk couldn’t make sense of it. Complex shapes, shades he couldn’t even name, are there before WuKong’s voice drags his attention back.

         “Before my imprisonment,” he murmurs, “I had watched my troop, my clan get routed by the Heavenly army as I fought with Erlang Shen. Many died. Over two thousand monkeys were there, and a handful managed to survive. We _always_ do. But I’d raised them. They were my **children**. I raised them, I nurtured them, and taught them to defend themselves. Can you blame what few that were left for not trying to find me so far from home? They were terrified of the Heavens. They hardly go outside even after this time.” The monkey pauses, allowing the information to be digested. If he were telling the truth, Sanzang only felt partially guilty for asking such an improper question in the first place. The Great Sage’s golden eyes were tired, his teeth loosely holding onto the stick as he peers into the fire.

         “I’ve also seen demons in your same placement. They loved. They married or took mates, whatever rites were particular to their kind. We didn’t really marry until we met more and more of your kind, you know. But then they lose them. To age. To fights. To childbirth. To war. I’ve had to restrain some of them, speak to all of them, and even battle most of them to ensure they didn’t go and kill themselves with their grief. Some of those fights didn’t end well. I hadn’t failed those demons who were grieving, and most of them time they didn’t blame me for how it turned out.”

         He grins, but the grin sends a shiver down Sanzang’s spine. “Right now, you are prey. Many demons, far and wide, want your hide. Your grief makes you a _vulnerable_ target. And _oh_ boy, **baldy** , if you think you got it bad, then you haven’t seen how _real_ demon fights go down. We fight **dirty**. We’ll hit you where we know it hurts and keep hitting you there until you **break**. It’s what we do best.”

         Finally, he acknowledges the monk, his gaze old and reminding the monk that the monkey beside him wasn’t a being of mortal stock. Having handled war against Heaven, having been bestowed the title of _Havoc of Heaven_ , and punished accordingly, he only had his thoughts as company for 500 years. The fact that he could hold onto such things made Sanzang ache to ask more questions about the first disciples early life. Just to get a better understanding, aside from this tiny glimpse of the Handsome Monkey King of what used to be the Sun Clan.

          “So, let _go_ of the pain. You can miss her. You can still feel sad about her sometimes. But _dammit_ , monk, if you leave yourself open to demons in this way, I **can’t** protect you from your special brand of _stupid_ you humans are prone to.” His voice wasn’t kind. His voice was unnaturally deep. He still had fangs, and his eyes were still gold. His craggy brow was still marred red by the fires he’d been thrown into (something he’d boasted about when he first took his human form and the red marks remained). This monkey who craved and earned immortality, this king who fought purely for the sake of his pride. And now his disciple. Shaking off the thoughts that crowd his mind, Sanzang returns to the point.

         Perhaps Pilgrim Sun did have a wizened pointed of view. It’s what makes the monk begrudgingly trust him, if only a bit. “Don’t think you’ve won me over completely,” Sanzang grumbles, his brow furrowing. “I still don’t trust you, WuKong.” Despite the obvious, that the monk trusted the monkey to a certain extent, he couldn’t extend that trustfully yet. WuKong understands this, and grins, his golden eyes crinkling in the corners as he begins laughing. It was a start, at least, for a new beginning to their relationship.


	3. Hibiscus

         The desert is a cruel mistress, that’s what the Great Sage decides. During the day, it was brutally hot and dry. During the night, it was freezing and terribly windy. It could easily break a man, no matter how strong he was if he wasn’t prepared. Both food and water weren’t hard to come by given the speed that WuKong commanded with a single jump, but it couldn’t shorten the time spent simply traversing this new obstacle of theirs. They would survive, as they always had, as long as their master still held firm to the direction of their journey.

         Curled around the fire, he and his brothers were resting. BaJie was asleep, which was rather impressive given his awkward position. He always sleeps with one limb folded over the other and his legs _twisted_ around...WuKong couldn’t help but wonder if the pig was **really** asleep or if he simply feigned it most nights. WuJing was prepping for the morning meal. And Master… Baldy was asleep, curled slightly to fight off the cold. The blanket that is draped around the monk is patched together with odd bits of fabric, and if one looked closely, they could see the Great Sage’s blanket just underneath it. He slept at WuKong’s side, an oddly peaceful expression on his face as he did so. It’s a relief, the king thinks, to see the monk at ease with himself.

         “You look reflective, boss,” it’s what the fish says, and he turns his head to acknowledge him. WuJing is staring at the two carefully, his knife slicing through what vegetables they had. Oddly enough, the fish was rather skilled in using such a tool. Pilgrim Sun wonders if it has anything to do with the fish demon’s previous human existence. Was he a butcher? Did he often cook? Did he have family to tend and care for before his village so cruelly misjudged him? “So much so that you haven’t bothered to move from Master.”

         Though it was true that WuKong would typically be moving away from the monk in efforts to keep things proper, their ever _low-key_ master usually had other plans. Ones that included getting as close as possible to the king. He didn’t mind the physical closeness of the monk, but that the monk seemed to _cling_ to him was a bit worrisome.

         “It’s what happens when Baldy decided to put his trust fully in me,” he drawls out. “It’s an odd feeling that. I almost feel as though I’m _responsible_ for him now. Can you **imagine?** ” He scoffs. But it’s lighthearted. It’s _teasing_. WuKong had been doing plenty of **that** lately, too. With their master finally able to relax and now out of harm’s way—their relationship could _mend_. Thinking on that, the Great Sage still gets a thrill revisiting such clean memories of their master **accepting** him.

         He’d been frustrated. Angry. Plotting and scraping together a plan to simply humiliate the monk if not kill him. When he got his chance in front of a false king, he’d claimed that he _might_ have overdone it. Truthfully, he knows just how badly he’d fucked up. He knows just how badly humiliated the monk was. And he _reveled_ in it for the short time he had. To teach him a lesson, to bring him down to _WuKong’s_ level and understand: You do not lead through tyranny. You do not lead simply through stubbornness. You _lead_ by walking side on side with your people, your group.

         The monk learned the lesson well. And even surprised him. _Don’t call me Master from now on. Just refer to me as Elder._ He’d thought for sure that his antics would force him away from the monk. That he’d be killed or punished further for the disrespect he’d shown. Not **acceptance**. Not _kindness_. Not from his master, and most definitely not _then_. But Sanzang knew what he was doing. He garnered the respect from the eldest disciple. He made the stone monkey with a body of iron **bend** to him. What a feat that must be, he thinks, that no one else could really claim as such.

         Much like stone can be worn away over time by the gentlest of streams, so too can the iron monkey it seems. “You and Master are a lot alike,” WuJing states. Golden eyes peer at his brother, curious and silently prompting the fish to continue. “You both strategize well. Because of your partnership, you were able to defeat the vulture and reveal the bone demon for what she was. By working together, you became an unstoppable force. But I wonder, Big Brother, _when_ was it that you two had been able to concoct such a plan? With your jealous fit over the white bone demon, there hardly seemed any time for you both to put your heads together!”

         It was true. The transition from leaving the palace to gaining the bone demon put a massive limit on talking privately to the monk. The demon seemed to tug at heart strings best left untouched, and WuKong had been _furious_ over such a thing. The monk was beginning to **heal** dammit, and now he’s forced to deal with such deception?! WuKong didn’t have a lot of time to work with, and he had even less words to make use of before he’d have to cut himself off when the demon would casually bump into their conversations. Or cause something to pull them from what needed to speak of. In desperation, claiming to need to urinate, the Monkey King was able to secure a few precious moments for quick conversation.

         He’d revealed what he knew—the demon wasn’t a natural one, but one of odd origin that couldn’t be handled normally. She was a _distraction_ —and the monk seemed to believe him. In that moment, in a desperate attempt to secure their group, he’d made a quiet plea to the monk and prayed it didn’t land on deaf ears. He prayed that the _brotherhood_ he had with his _elder_ wasn’t just fluffy words to comfort him. _Trust me_. That’s what he’d begged. _Trust me in this ploy, and it’ll all be revealed._ They couldn’t plan out the specifics. They couldn’t plan out the necessities. They could only wing it and WuKong prayed that the monk would not _falter_ in such a critical plan.

         Instead, he’d done beautifully. He’d played up the act, sent WuKong away to collect some help from someone just a _bit_ higher than they were, and never faltered even when WuKong’s staff met his body. **That** bit took refined amounts of skill. The sheer weight of his staff could’ve easily killed his master. If he’d lost control of his discipline even for a moment, moved badly or oddly it could’ve been finished. Instead, they worked in sync. And for the moment, the group could experience some peace. “I asked him to trust me,” WuKong finally replies. “I asked him to _trust_ me, and he did.” It was a lot to ask for. It was **too** much to ask for. But the kind, gentle monk Sanzang gave.

         “Master knows how to measure risk well,” WuJing states. “But even still, that was a risk that knew no bounds. Anything could’ve gone wrong at any given moment. And you both were able to do all of that, defeat the _vulture_ on just **trust**?” The fish is in disbelief. He’s shaking his head, muttering to himself about what sort of **bullshit** that had to be. Perhaps the fish was right. Maybe it _was_ a little bit of bullshit for their master to trust him so easily, so **openly**. They’d won the day, didn’t they? They’d worked together and succeeded. Was it another ploy? Was it simply a gamble, a _risk_ taken so that WuKong would be malleable in the future?

         The Great Sage peers at the bald man who slept soundly. Golden eyes narrow thoughtfully, and though he doesn’t speak, WuJing knows that the monkey has begun a new plot. Though he wasn’t sure of the specifics or even what sort of direction that monkey was planning, he feels the distinct tingle along his legs of _hives_ beginning to start. “Perhaps I should visit an old friend.” It’s what he says, but the fish knows quite well that Sun WuKong had about as many friends as there were Heavenly homes in the sky.

         Guilt began eating away at the fish demon as he stares at the Sage. Brown, dirty eyes were watching his eldest brother, and all he could think as the night began to fade into a rosy morning is, _I fucked up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for an update! I've had an insanely busy week!


	4. Ecru

         Rare is the moment that both WuJing and Pigsy are left alone. Both eldest brother and master were away doing chores of some sort. Part of WuJing wants to believe that the Great Sage was simply out begging for food and gathering water for their journey ahead. Part of the fish wants to believe that Sun WuKong isn’t doing something that the group would be faced with later on, despite their struggles up to this point. But deep down, that tiny human voice of his that he could never quite squash is speaking up. And he hears it, understanding that his big brother was planning something, though what it could be, he wasn’t sure. It was enough to make him nervous, to make him regret talking to his brother in the first place.

         “Isn’t it lovely,” BaJie sighs, his fan waving lazily. “Master and eldest brother getting along so well! Goodness, I’d even go so far as to say that Master has gotten over Miss Duan!” The pig was lax, per the usual, and stretched out languidly as he chatters. Privately, WuJing wonders if that could ever be true. Could Master get over Miss Duan? They were _soulmates_. If he’d succumbed to his mortal wishes, he would’ve lead a happy life with the demon hunter. Frowning, he tries to picture their eldest brother in that position. He couldn’t see it. Monkey, staying by their master’s side? Loving him sweetly, loving him tenderly? No, that wasn’t eldest brother’s style.

         Pigsy is watching him, his fan pausing in its waving. WuJing didn’t disagree often, but the stormy look that was on the fishes face was one that brought about concern to the pig. “I think you’re wrong,” he says this firmly, unsure of what direction his mouth would take him. He didn’t listen to his human side often, but he’s sure that what it speaks now is truth. “I think it’s putting Eldest Brother in an awkward position. How else is Eldest Brother supposed to react when Master pushes himself on him all the time? _Bah._ ”

         Sitting up, the Second Brother is interested in the fish’s input. WuJing’s perception was the highest of the group, but it wasn’t always as such. It was only so high when he was in tune with something he cared for. And this was something the youngest disciple seemed very passionate about. Black beady eyes are watching the fish as he struggles, the only encouragement that the Pig could offer. “Don’t you think, after watching so much of this, that Big Brother is merely a replacement for Miss Duan?” The question, once it pierced through the air, couldn’t be taken back.

         What the youngest disciples didn’t know is that they had two sets of ears listening in to their conversation. From a hidden place, WuKong was carefully watching his brothers. His ears were twitching, his eyes narrowed in thought as they spoke. Fingers grasped at his loose pants, clenching and releasing slowly. A patient monkey, he most definitely was not. Hell, he couldn’t even keep still—not since he’d gotten his freedom. But he practices patience for the moment, he practices stillness for a minute. He can wait this out, right?

         Much the same, so too was the master practicing patience and control. He was on the opposite side of the camp, hidden by trees, perfectly parallel to WuKong but knowing as such. Instead, he merely appeared to be meditating, so perfectly still he was. He appeared to be deep in his trance, his hands laxly touching his knees as his legs were tucked under him. His eyes were closed, his back ramrod straight without any effort. What lies under such a perfect position, what lies under such a calm exterior? One could only guess.

         Pigsy looks about himself, feeling certain that he was being watched. By whom or how many, he wasn’t sure. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight, and he grimaces at such boldness from the youngest brother. “I think you’ve been hit on the head far too many times by demons to make such a statement, WuJing. Master isn’t the type to—”

         “You’re _wrong_.” On all accounts, but the human voice inside of WuJing is _howling_ now, demanding to be heard. And _oh_ , how he hears it now. He understands more than what he ever really lets on, and yet when he reveals as such, it seems as though **everyone** is surprised. “Master _would_ be the one to do as such. He’s the _leader_ of our group. He’s the one leading us West, and **truthfully,** elder brother, why _wouldn’t_ he do as such? That headband aside, WuKong and Duan share similar traits. They’re bold, unstoppable forces. They each have snared Master with their passion, with their fierce determination, their **vibrancy** _._ Of course, you wouldn’t know this because _you_ weren’t captured by Miss Duan first. _I_ was.”

         Though he was subdued, it didn’t mean he was put out of commission. No, he was fully aware of what was going on between Miss Duan and their Master before either of his eldest brothers had an inkling. Pigsy purses his lips as the fish continues. “Master has yet to prove that he sees WuKong as his own person. It’s _always_ as though he superimposes Miss Duan over Monkey. It’s **always** as though he was only _somewhat_ aware of our brother.” Frowning, WuJing pulls his knees up and hugs them loosely. He got the same chill that Pigsy had. It’s as though someone was listening to their conversation, but there was no one in sight, no one _nearby_ from what they could tell.

         “So, if Master were presented with Miss Duan,” Pigsy drawls out, his fan pointing to his youngest brother. “And told to choose between her and Eldest Brother, you believe that he would choose the dead woman?” WuJing merely nods. Pigsy falls silent, his frown almost breaking the mask of makeup on his face. “…Now that you point out such things, I kind of have to agree with you. I feel bad for eldest brother, now.” Shifting, he begins tending the fire. He’s ignoring how the hives were beginning to break out on WuJing’s legs now, and how the familiar buzz begins at the back of his head. He knows it’ll be another sleepless night.

         “What do we do?” It’s the question that hangs in the air. They both found themselves rather useless in the face of such revelations. Though the relationship between both Monkey and Monk was better, they couldn’t help but think it was founded on false feelings. “What _can_ we do? We need to help eldest brother.”

         And though they weren’t family by blood, they weren’t family by anything other than the similar chains they bore, they were tied tightly together. If the eldest brother fell, they knew quite well that they would fall shortly after. That was the power that WuKong held. He knew strategy, he knew war, and he had connections the likes of which neither of his little brothers had. Because of such, he was the most valuable person in their group. Everyone wanted a piece of the Tang Monk for immortality, but that would mean defeating the strongest demon that was ever crafted.

         Pigsy is silent, unsure of how to answer. Being the middle child of this rather odd family of theirs, he was never particularly the brightest. But he knew WuKong long before WuJing had. Hell, the Monkey had subdued him before after he became a demon in the first place before releasing him back into the wilds. It’d been a _game_ for their Eldest Brother—defeat whatever demons that became trouble and bend them to his will. It’s what eventually lead him to become King. No one knew how he got his power, his abilities, and though he claimed to have gotten them on his own merit there were still rumors. It wasn’t until he waged war against Heaven that those rumors quieted.

         And he _knew_ , in the depths of his bones, that the monkey was already up to something they were going to have to face later. “Big Brother should’ve anticipated this,” it’s what he says. It’s what comes out of his mouth. But he doesn’t understand. “He’ll have a plan. He always does. Don’t worry about it so much.” But they both will worry. And they’ll worry until they have no choice but to acknowledge that their eldest brother might _not_ know of such things. And he might _not_ have a plan. “Trust WuKong. There’s a reason why he comes out on top.” They just had to believe in him. Just like Master did when the White Bone Demon tried to sow the seeds of discord in their group. Because if they believed in anything else, if they believed any less than what they did, the fallout when the truth would eventually be revealed would be catastrophic. That’s not an option.


	5. Aubergine

         He never did like the snow. It brought up feelings he’d rather forget. Being isolated from what was left of his troop, being under a mountain without any of the comforts he’d come to know, staring as molten iron was poured down his throat and iron irons were fed to him to fill his belly. Golden eyes narrow on his group, his brothers and master huddled near a low flame that sat in the middle of the room. The temple was Heaven-sent and furnished exquisitely, but it was most likely another trial if his senses were correct. Which they most likely were—he hasn’t been wrong the entirety of the journey thus far. Grumbling to himself, he adjusts his seat. What a terrible thing it is, he thinks, to have Heaven sent minions prickling at his senses.

         For a moment, he feels a touch lonely and wonders the why of it. He was _missing_ something…. When he looks over, he realizes that it was one of the few times that Sanzang wasn’t by his side. The monk had taken to nearly attaching himself to WuKong’s hip and almost affectionately pestering him. Whether it be nagging at him to eat or drink or just random questions that deigned to fill the monks head, he could only entertain the man as he sought the monkey’s company. But there’s a kind of tension there, one that none of the brothers verbally addresses. It was a tension that irks him, makes him want to _act_ but on what he’s unsure.

         “WuKong,” the voice is warmth personified, chasing away the chill that clings at the edges of the room. It’s familiar and stirring. Amber eyes slide to acknowledge the monk, his brow quirked in a silent question. The quietness of the monkey bothers him, but he doesn’t mention it because he’s trying to be low-key. For all the good that it does him, he finds that it’s worked out rather well, all things considered. His disciples find him to be a strict—if not silly—leader, and he’s well received by most humans and celestials due to his calm demeanor. “How much longer do you think we need to travel before we reach the west?”

         Pursing his lips, WuKong considers the question. He doesn’t know it, but the look is one that makes Sanzang’s heart skip a beat before it returns to a regular pace. “Depends,” he finally mumbles out. “Could be as soon as tomorrow, could be we never see it. Don’t worry so much, Elder.” This doesn’t please his master, but it’s enough to quiet him. Pigsy suddenly perks, his face lighting up as he darts towards their packs. Curious, the oddly serious group watch as the pig shuffles through their meager belongings. What the pig pulls out is a small stack of what WuKong recognizes as cards. A devilish grin curls his lips and he eagerly joins the group as the Pig begins shuffling back to the nearby table.

         He remembers several games that were once played at his table, and his fingers itch to play again. Cards, dice, such games were usually linked to sinful activities. But with nothing to bet, with nothing to lose, it’ll provide a means to escape their boredom. But what surprised him is when Sanzang showed interest, showed curiosity in such a thing. “It isn’t sinful if we’re not betting anything, right?” The question is a rhetorical one, an answer to his surprised gaze. The monkey snorts, shaking his head. The monk liked the strangest things, he thinks.

         The games were short ones, and though WuKong was masterful at each one, his master proved to be a very good opponent. The younger brothers did everything they could to ensure each game would last longer with each loss, but it was impossible to keep up. Sanzang was a tactician, a strategist and masterful cards player. But eldest brother? _WuKong_? He didn’t just have strategy on his side, but insanely lucky draws. Each time he triumphed, they checked his sleeves, disbelief that he could successfully win each time.

         As time wore on, the sun set and dinner was served. The bland vegetarian meal only seemed to egg them on to play more extravagant games. When they finally called it a night, WuKong was undeniably the victor and the candles were half gone. “Have some pity on your master,” Sanzang finally sighs. His puts the handful of cards down and rolls his shoulders. Crackles and pops come from him, and WuKong gives him a wolfish grin. “It’s late, we should all be turning in.”

         Both Pigsy and Sandy, who’d been nothing but spectators at this point, had to agree. WuKong scooped up the cards, shuffling them carefully before returning the precious game back to the Second Brother. What a delightful turn of events! Perhaps he should get his own deck of cards, given how much he enjoyed playing. The bedrolls are set up, and the monks slowly began turning in. WuKong and his master were the last, but it was becoming routine for them to turn in shortly after the other.

         “Who is the one responsible for the next trial do you think?” The monk was clever, his sharp eyes piercing through the illusions Heaven usually boasts about. Was it because he was a holy man that he could see through such illusions? WuKong could see through them only because of his fiery gaze, but he was no holy creature to take pride in such a thing. “And who will be the one challenged, do you think?”

         Preparation, preparation, preparation. It was integral to keep the group from falling prey to demons and Heavenly Celestials that deemed them unworthy of moving forward. Planning ahead had been the only thing that allowed them to get this far, but even the Great Sage couldn’t foresee what was to come. Instead, he offers, “Let Grandpa Sun find out and we’ll plan ahead in the morning, Master.” It’s all he _could_ offer to the monk, but it was enough to quiet him and allow the man to rest.

         Twisting his fingers, he shakes himself before murmuring a quick incantation. With a soft command of _“Change!_ ”, the Great Sage was no more. In his stead, was a sleek mouse. Tiny and busy, he could squeeze into the tiniest spaces and go unnoticed. It’d be strange if he took the form of an insect in such a cold time. Scurrying out of the room, he sticks to the corners of where the wall meets the floor, the shadows hiding him and his dark brown fur. Following the heavenly energy, he finds that it leads him to a spacious room that holds only one occupant.

         Her smile is serene as her gentle eyes fall upon the mouse, her lips unpainted and her gaze kind. “Great Sage,” she chides. “Is that any way to greet your big Sister?” Even her voice, so tender and achingly calm, was warm and kind. WuKong could swear on his life that he never transformed back so quickly, his amber eyes wide as he kowtows. Before him, sitting properly on her dais, is none other than the Goddess of Mercy, Guan Shih Yin.

         The very benefactor who’d spared his life and was ultimately his key to freedom, he owed quite a bit to the Goddess. “This lowly monkey greets his senior.” His voice didn’t tremble, nor was it meek. It was firm, and acknowledging. She tells him to rise and when he does so, he can only muster a very confused look to grace her. “Big Sister, why are you offering trial in Heaven’s stead?” It was beneath her, he thinks, to bother with such things.

         But she smiles, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “Your hearts are all very troubled. And matters of such regard are best left to mercy and kindness, no?” Slow to rise, she stands at a lack luster five feet tall. Her hair gleams, silken and dark. Not even the most precious of inks could hope to compare to the strands that decorate her head. “I volunteered. Now, tell your eldest sister what the matter is so I can find a way best to help you all.”

         And the Great Sage confessed. He loved the Tang monk dearly, but his heart was plagued with doubt as to how he was viewed. And he knew his brothers too were doubting the sincerity of the monk. Guan Shih Yin nods, thoughtfully pressing her fingertips under her lip as she listens. He had no idea what the Goddess planned, but he’s sure she could come to a successful conclusion to their issues. She’d done so for him, even as he spat curses and vile things at Heaven.

         He remembers how she’d plead for his life, finding a solution that would allow him his life, and eventually finding a way to free him once more. She saw in him something that no one else had seen. At least, not until the Tang Monk. When she pauses, he waits. And waits. And waits. “I have a solution,” she murmurs. “But the execution of such a thing… It’ll require a delicate hand.” Turning to him, she smiles once more. And he knows exactly why, in that moment, he calls her Big Sister. There’s a gleam in her eye, one that tells of mischief and plots. For a brief moment, he wonders what he’d gotten himself into, and readily agrees to whatever it was that the Goddess of Mercy had in mind.


	6. Ginger

         When morning comes, Sanzang couldn’t help but feel a knot in his belly. Was it anxiety for the day to come? Was it because he felt there was something missing in the room as soon as he woke? He peers around to see what exactly was amiss, and finds that the eldest disciple was the only one unaccounted for. WuKong wasn’t there to greet them. Instead, he was found having breakfast with the almsgiver of the home, the owner.

         A lovely woman, her eyes warm and sincere, had painted red lips curved into a smile. She didn’t look anyone that Sanzang would immediately recognize. Her hair piled atop of her head was neatly coiled and sleek, easily the envy of queens and princesses alike with how shiny the strands were. Her robes were pristine and delicate, a luxury he didn’t know and had only ever seen on others. Staring at her for a moment, he ignores the guest sitting across from WuKong, choosing to sit by the monkey’s side. “Pleased to meet you, Almsgiver.”

         Staring at the table, he’s surprised to find that it was a vegetarian dish that sits across the space. “Forgive me,” she murmurs, “but your eldest disciple requested that only a vegetarian meal sit on the table in the morning. I have no qualms with such a thing, as I only partake in vegetarian meals myself, but…” She casts her gaze to the hooded figure who sits across from WuKong. “Not everyone eats so simply.” In front of the figure is a meager meal consisting of roasted rabbit and simple congee. The simplicity of such a thing doesn’t bother him, and he shakes his head. Not everyone could partake in vegetarian meals, and required sustenance based on their professions or illnesses. There was no need to excuse such a thing.

         “My apologies for any inconvenience.” He says this, but it’s not directed at the host. He couldn’t see anything defining about the hooded figure aside from a smaller frame, though they sat very much like a man would. A dismissive hand wave is what’s received, and subdued, the monk begins to eat his portion of the meal. WuKong is silent, as was becoming a part of the normal for them. But he can feel the tension in his disciple in the way his back was ramrod straight. He can feel something burning right under the surface, and he wonders if it should do with the new guest. He doesn’t question it, choosing silence for this contest of wills.

         In his silence, he discovers a few things. WuKong shifts, ever so subtly, towards him. As if he were ready to jump in front of the monk, to shield him from something. The figure across from them has delicate fingers, and the way they move is relatively feminine. It was safe to say that it was a woman, hooded and quiet. As if she wasn’t sure how to proceed, or was waiting for a signal. And their host? Was serenely eating bits of the dishes in front of her. Each dish she’d selected was only about a mouthful. She didn’t eat too much, but the movements concealed such. Given how little she’s consumed, he believes that she is a celestial, knowing that they typically didn’t partake much in mortal meals. She must be the one delivering their trial.

         And the one on trial? Was himself. It would explain why WuJing and BaJie weren’t present. They were not to participate in such a trial, and were even difficult to wake upon the morning. They’ll be rather sore once they wake to see that the trial is over with, but Sanzang is sure that he can deal with their short tempers for days to come as long as he survives. Though, he wonders if his life is truly on the line this time.

         As silly as the monkey believed the monk to be, Sanzang was terribly smart. He had to be an expert negotiator. He had to be an expert in manipulation. He had to be an expert in dealing with demons. And because of such, he puts his guard up, just a bit. He wasn’t sure what he was bracing for, but he’s sure it wouldn’t be enough. Not with how WuKong was closing in on him. The monkey usually wasn’t so anxious, wasn’t so determined to shield him unless there was a very large threat before them.

         Though he wasn’t an affectionate sort of man, he knows that his eldest disciple disliked being out of the loop, or being unable to help. Instead, because he’s low key, Sanzang can drop his hand from the table without notice. He places it on WuKong’s leg, the thigh coiled and ready to spring into action. To his credit, the Great Sage doesn’t jump at the sudden touch. Instead, he leans forward. “You’ve been rather quiet all morning.” His voice was sudden, shattering the silence. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

         Like that, the trial has begun. The person across from them shifts forward as well, the brash movement conflicting with such a tiny frame. Bold, the monk thinks, that she would challenge WuKong. “I don’t bother giving my name to _demons_ ,” the voice breaks something in the monk. The voice, sneering and confidant and familiar all at once. Shock, grief, longing, and mild terror fill him at once. Sanzang’s hand squeezes, his fingering wrapping tightly around the monkey’s thigh.

         “ _What_.” It’s all he can manage. It’s all that can escape his closing throat. Breath is hard to come by, and he can see black dots buzzing at the corners of his vision. WuKong’s head snaps to the side then, taking in the visage of the monk. Pale, wide eyed and tears threatening to fall, the monk looked like a wreck. The Great Sage reaches a hand towards Sanzang, and he’s taken by surprise as the monk snatches it up, yanking him up and dragging him from the table without even so much as a polite excuse to the host.

         He’s stumbling after the grief-stricken monk, his illusion bleeding away from a human guise to that of the very demon he is. “Elder. _Elder_.” He’s trying, at least, to get the monk to listen. But Sanzang wasn’t hearing him, tugging him along and succeeding in getting them outside and away from the home for the moment. “ **Baldy**!” The stop is sudden, and he stumbles into the monk, catching them both before they could both fall over. But it’s terribly hard to hold onto the monk, who seems to merely be dead weight in his arms.

         There’s no sobs. There’s no wails, no sounds of mourning. Only the quietest hitches of breath before the monk straightens. When he turns, his eyes are sharp despite the tear stains on his face. “What sort of demon is that,” he says this through gritted teeth. “To take such a voice? To take such a form? _Answer me, WuKong._ ” Opening his mouth, WuKong finds himself at a bit of a loss to reply. His saving grace comes from their host, the lady of the house leading the hooded figure. The hood comes down, and Sanzang clings tightly to WuKong’s arms. Fingers attempt to dig into skin and find more purchase in cloth than it does against the iron hide of the monkey.

         Stepping forward, the host drops her own illusion, and Sanzang can only stare in disbelief as Guan Shih Yin lightly frowns at him. “I can understand,” she murmurs. “The shock of seeing Miss Duan, Tripitaka. It is why this is truly your trial. Not one of strength that your eldest disciple can take care of. Not one of clever schemes or manipulations that you can take care of. One of the heart, to finally settle the matter. The Heavens grow worried that you’ll be lost on your journey, that your heart is clouded and it will eventually force your efforts to come to a stop.”

         Dipping her head, it seems to be the signal that Duan was waiting for as she steps forward. The movements, familiar and swinging and carefree make his chest ache. “Which is why they’ll allow you to settle down if you’d like.” Her hands clasp in front of her, her shoulders loose. “You could get married, have children, and forget about all this. You’d live here, with me, in this Heaven-sent property.” Her lips purse together. “And if you choose to continue, then you’ll get to let go. You can be free as you go along your journey.” As free as she was when she was turned to dust.

         The black dots are buzzing more aggressively, and he finds it hard to think. His fingers ache, clinging to his disciple so hard that his knuckles were white. “WuKong,” he manages to choke out. His head turns, and he sees his disciple. This demon, wearing Duan’s bracelet as a crown, covered in armor. This monkey, standing as a man, staring at him as if he were waiting for a command. There was no jealousy, only expectation. _What next_ , his gaze seemed to say. _Where do we go from here_? But he can manage no more, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. WuKong catches him so easily, it was as though the motion was merely staged instead of unexpected.

         Duan frowns, her lips drawing thin. “I don’t know what you were expecting,” she tells the Goddess as WuKong scoops the monk up. “But I hope this was it.”


	7. Alabaster

         WuKong is by far much more patient than what Duan had given him credit for. The monkey refused to leave the monk’s side, carefully tending to the man as he slept fitfully. The very King of demons, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, one of the strongest demons to date, was tending to this monk as if he were some sort of worried husband fretting over his wife. Pursing her lips, the woman isn’t sure how to broach conversation. The monkey finally looks up, his golden eyes less unnerving than the first time she’d seen them, and he frowns. “Of all the things that Goddess could’ve done,” he rumbles out. “This wasn’t what I’d thought she’d tug out of her sleeve.”

         It’s the opening she was waiting for, and Duan takes it as swiftly as she takes to the other side of the monk’s bed. “You’re telling _me_. I was waiting to be reincarnated. I get plucked out of line in order to settle affairs that the living couldn’t let go of, and suddenly I’m _here_.” Lips twisting, she’s offering an amused grin. “I sort of knew, really. There was only one option. But to do this _now_ after so long. It’s been years now, hasn’t it? It’s been a week down there, but the Underworld is where time moves oddly, isn’t it?” The fact that she knew as such is more to her credit, he thinks. WuKong shifts, his head nodding slowly. He hadn’t been down there long enough to suffer such a thing, fighting his way out as soon as he entered.

         “Yes,” he murmurs. “It’s been a handful of years since your passing. I’m surprised you weren’t taken out of line sooner.” Sanzang mumbles in his sleep, and WuKong’s hand reaches out before Duan could react, touching the monk’s brow lightly. It’s enough for the man to settle, falling back to sleep. “At first, he was a wreck. He got you and I confused quite often. I’m not sure if it’s because of the band or because we’re so alike, but it wasn’t until recently that he hasn’t brought you up every few minutes.”

         Duan looked offended, her nose scrunching as she gave WuKong a heavy stare. “We look nothing alike,” she states this firmly, as if challenging him to say otherwise. Instead, he opens his mouth to answer and pauses. What he chooses to do startles her, his shoulders shaking violently as he chortles. He starts shaking his head, his laughter bubbling up from the middle of his belly and his teeth gleaming as he guffaws. It’s an almost pleasant sound, she thinks, to hear him laugh so honestly. She didn’t trust demons. That was a firm rule she’d had. But this demon was protecting Sanzang. This demon loved Sanzang. And she knew the monk shared those feelings, though he wouldn’t say so much. Something about being low-key, though he really wasn’t. He couldn’t figure out how to be low-key without being so obvious without WuKong around.

         “Goodness, I’d hope not.” And morphing back, the monkey appears to be more of a man, haggard looking and a mess. His clothes were baggy on his frame, a thick scarf hiding his neck and almost half of his face. “I think I’d _die_ if I looked like a woman. I mean, I _already_ get enough shit looking the way I do. Looking like a _woman_ on top of it all?” He shakes his head, his dirty hair swaying lightly. “Leave that shit to Pigsy. _He_ can pull off being a woman. Leave that shit to the fairies and the other celestials. **They** can pull off being a woman.” Scrunching his nose, he tries to imagine it. Wearing a _dress_. Worrying over **makeup** and how his hair was. “I was called the Handsome Monkey King because I looked the most _human_ when I’m in between forms. That and because I _really_ didn’t care how I looked when it came to battle. If you cared about such things, you were the _beautiful_ or some bullshit like that. Can you imagine? Going to fix your hair or makeup between battles?”

         Duan starts giggling, trying to cover her mouth and finally giving in to the urge and cackling like _crazy_ when the images hit her. “I’ve fought demons like that! I think his name was _Hao_ the Lovely!” WuKong gasps, his hand coming up to his chest. It was such an exaggerated movement that Duan starts _howling_ with laughter, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

         “You fought Old Hao? Did he die?” WuKong wouldn’t be surprised if he did. The old demon wore the most garish rouge that it would make courtesans blush. Or they might ask where he got it. Who knows? “Or is he still fixing his face somewhere?” WuKong suddenly begins lounging, producing a fan from almost nowhere and waving it delicately. It was clear that he was mimicking what he’d last known of Old Hao’s habits. “ _Oh,_ how would I go on, knowing I’ll never see Hao and his _facemasks_ right before he goes to bed!” Pausing, WuKong straightens then, the fan snapping shut and disappearing from sight. “You did the world a damned _service_ if that’s the case.”

         Duan falls off her chair then, clutching her sides and her belly. She’s nearly hysteric, tears dripping down her face as she cackles. It’s amazing with how loud they are that the Tang monk didn’t bother to rise. Perhaps he’s used to such loudness as he slept, the brothers usually scuffling and bickering from dawn until they went to bed. When Duan rises, she puts herself on the chair and wipes at her face, laughing lightly now. “He was _defeated_ , but I’m not sure if he’s **dead**. I captured him and delivered him to a temple that he was pestering.” Shaking her head, she sighs. “Come to think of it, he was probably bothering them because of how plain they were.”

         WuKong sighs, shaking his head. “The world is still a dark, terrible place then.” This makes Duan giggle. Finally, he claps his hands and peers at the monk, frowning. His eyes narrow, and Duan could almost see the gears turning in the monkey’s head before he acts. Covering her mouth, she watches the monkey get _into_ the bed with the monk, his face obscenely close to the sleeping monk’s. And then he waits. Duan muffles her hysterical giggles, biting her knuckles as the monk actually begins to _stir_. When Sanzang cracks his eyes open, WuKong is trying to stifle his grin that threatens to split his face in two.

         Frowning lightly, the monk finds it odd that it’s so quiet. Feeling warmth to his left, he turns his head. Close, far too close for his liking so soon after waking up, to his face was none other than WuKong. “Morning, Master,” is cooed at him. And Sanzang’s startled cry is loud enough that he’s _sure_ he shook the house. WuKong rolls off the side of the bed, scampering away as Duan begins laughing once more. His cackles bounce off the walls as he darts out of the room, shutting the doors behind him.

         “ _Sun WuKong_ ,” is the cry that follows after him. It sounded like a curse, but WuKong is careful to run farther into the house, determined to find Guan Shih Yin. When he _does_ find her, she’s watching the room through a generously sized crystal orb, a bean bun sitting on a plate where WuKong found himself sitting moments later. Turning towards him, he could only offer her a charming grin as she silently judges him for his prank.

         They both turn their attentions to the ball as Duan begins speaking to the monk. “He cares for you quite a bit,” she hums this lightly. Sanzang’s head whips to where she was sitting, his ears turning redder than his cheeks. His mouth gapes like a fish, his fingers pointing at the door that WuKong had left out of. “I would almost say as much as I do. But I don’t know much about demons.” Shaking her head, Duan’s smile is tired. Her eyes were mournful, and her voice is quiet. “Sanzang. What’s all this I hear about you not letting go?”

         Truth be told, as soon as Sanzang fled from her and the Goddess of Mercy, she already knew his answer. She’s sure that Guan Shih Yin did also. This wasn’t for her or the Goddess or the Heavens. It was only for one person. And he was elsewhere now, fleeing from his Master. Trying to answer, the monk Tripitaka finds that there are no words that come to him immediately. When he does speak, it’s several moments later, just as Duan’s patience had reached an end. “You were taken too soon.” Shaking his bald head, his smile is pained. “But that’s how life goes, isn’t it? Without knowing suffering, you cannot hope to solve it. Without loving someone, you cannot know how to open your heart to others.”

         He spoke maturely. He spoke firmly. He spoke like a monk on a journey, not the Chen Sanzang that she’d fallen in love with. Duan is satisfied with his answer, understanding the truth behind it. He’d made his decision. “You won’t be staying then.” Her voice is tight, and though she’d wished for a different answer, a different result, she knew what he was going to say. “You’ll be continuing your journey with your three disciples. And you’ll be gaining the sutras to help those suffering. Right?”

         It wasn’t for her that she asks. She knew they were being watched. She knew that somewhere, Guan Shih Yin was carefully making sure of what the monk’s decision was before the trial ended. “I need to do this,” he states. “And…” He pauses, his lips pursing. “I want to see all of my disciples succeed. They’re learning. They’re _growing_. I’m…” Pausing once more, he finds that there’s tears in his eyes. “I’m so terribly proud of them. Each of them. We fight, we bicker, and I might not be the best master, but they each make me so _proud_ of their progress.” The tears drip down. And he would never breathe a single word, never let the words leave his lips, but he was rather proud of one disciple in _particular_.

         Duan understood. She smiles, and though there’s tears in her eyes, she understands. She had a knack for that, he thinks, for understanding what he leaves unsaid. WuKong seemed to always understand that too, the troublesome monkey always finding ways to bother the monk enough to fix the problem instead of letting it fester. “With this,” she murmurs. “I believe your trial is over.” And her words would prove correct, his youngest disciples finally finding the strength to pull out of such a restful sleep in order to face the day that was now half gone. WuKong stands, bowing his head in thanks to the Goddess.

         She winks at him, murmuring, “You’ll have one more day here to rest up, replenish your supplies and such. Tomorrow, all this will be gone. Rest easy now, Old Monkey, that you know where the monk’s heart truly lies.” Mumbling his shy thanks, the monkey darts away to bother his brothers that were now bickering. Joining in, he’s quick to argue with both of them, causing a storm of ruckus. Smiling, the goddess can only laugh, her gentle eyes crinkling in the corners.

         “I believe,” she hears coming from the Tang monk. “That my next trial has only just begun.” Duan, she sees, only laughs as an answer.


	8. Soot

         The brothers were squabbling, bickering and arguing. There wasn’t any rhyme nor reason to it. Perhaps it was simply to make sound, or maybe it was just because they could. But they were _loud_ , and it seemed even louder when Sanzang enters the room. He wonders if all families were like this when there were too many men. Each of them were demanding something or another from the other. And all of his disciples were on the floor, wrestling and swatting at each other and yelling incoherently. He waits a moment, watching them twist and turn over each other before he clears his throat.

         It’s comical, the way they pause in their struggles. Pigsy’s ears were red from WuKong’s tugging fingers. Sandy’s crest was flared out from Pigsy’s hands. And the eldest disciple, the Havoc of Heaven and infamous troublemaker himself, was _sitting_ on top of the other two, peering at his master upside down. He wonders if WuKong had learned that he could easily derail the man’s anger by doing so, and wonders if the monkey plays it up because of that. Narrowing his eyes, he tries to keep on track.

         But even now, he could see the pale, unmarred skin of WuKong’s throat, exposed and elongated in a tempting way. It wasn’t a sign of surrender. Sanzang’s eyes trail further up, hoping to lock eyes with his disciple. But his eyes betray him, and his gaze lingers on WuKong’s parted lips, the gleam of teeth hiding behind them. When he locks eyes with his disciple, the wild and clever gaze makes him forget precisely why he was angry in the first place. It was seduction, pure and simple. And WuKong seemed to be a master at it when his master was the victim.

         Taking the chance, WuKong darts from the room, calling over his shoulder, _“Pigsy started it!”_ It was enough to get the monk back on track, at least. WuKong can hear the scolding start and snickers to himself as he makes good on his escape. And as he turns a corner, sharp as sharp could be, he knocks right into Duan. They both nearly go flying, but WuKong is nothing short of graceful as he catches her, his legs bracing for the added weight.

         It’s an awkward position, where Duan is dipped down and nearly touching the floor. Her arms are wrapped around his shoulders, and her eyes stare at up at him with a clear gaze. For all intents and purposes, it was an intimate position. It did nothing for the monkey, but he did so love to flirt with trouble. Feeling cheeky, WuKong opens his mouth to speak.

         “I knew you’d fall for me if I tried hard enough.” He grins, charming and mischievous. “Though, I didn’t expect it so soon after Master left the room.” Duan smacks him, an open handed slap across the cheek. It was all sound, but WuKong jerks with the motion. He wasn’t angry, taking it in stride as he says, “That’s alright. I’m down for a little bit of rough play. You should ask Baldy. He whips me all the time.” The slap that comes this time is a bit harder, and much more deserved. But he laughs instead of being offended, standing them up and straightening himself out. His clothes were terribly ruffled.

         “You’re awful.” Duan tells him this, but she’s smiling. “Would you take a walk with me? There isn’t much time left for me.” It was true, he thinks, that there wasn’t much time left. Duan was pale around the edges, and it would soon be time for her to go back down to wait in line for reincarnation. WuKong offers his arm to her before they begin to walk together, allowing her to settle her weight on him to ensure she didn’t waste too much effort. She links her arm with his and they stride slowly outside.

         There was a well-worn path to bring them just outside the home, allowing them time to meander and chat. “He still loves me, you know? But he’s healing. I don’t think he’ll let go, but there will be enough of healing for him to manage his grief better. He shouldn’t be at further risk on your journey forward.” She spoke the truth, and WuKong could only nod in response. Duan had a good head about her, part of the reason why Sanzang liked her so much. Though she was stubborn, she had excellent insight into various situations.

         He’d seen it himself. The monk was growing up on them and into a person he was meant to be. “I just wish I knew,” he sighed. “Where his heart lies. It’s a jumbled mess, that. His journey, you, us as his disciples… He needs to set his feet down and make up his mind to go forward.” This surprises Duan, her head turning to him. Truthfully, he didn’t know where the monk’s head was most of the time. He’s been guessing, and after so long he’d been with the monk on this journey, he’d known him enough to make decisions he knows the monk would approve of.

         WuKong wore his heart on his sleeve, and Duan takes a couple of moments to realize what he was really trying to get at. It was clear that the monkey cared for the monk deeply, and he was unsure of how Sanzang would reply to such feelings that WuKong harbored. “Didn’t you hear what he said?” She asks this slowly. She already knew where Sanzang’s heart lied. “Didn’t you understand that he’s picked his journey over settling?” He’s picked WuKong over her. Didn’t the Great Sage understand that he’d won? But WuKong shakes his head, his grin tired and his eyes mournful. “Great Sage—”

         “He says what you want to hear because he doesn’t want to upset you. He plays down his own feelings all the time to ensure someone else’s happiness.” Something about him being low-key though he _really_ wasn’t that good at it. Running a hand down his face, the monkey appears old—far older than what someone would expect. “Damned Baldy… Now I gotta pester him for weeks after this to make sure he’s alright.” But any progress is good progress, right? He turns his attention back to the woman at his side and smiles. It’s odd, seeing such a pleasant look on the Great Sage’s face. It wasn’t marred by the need to challenge something, nor mocking as it usually was. It was a rather pleasant sight to see. “I can see why he likes you so much.”

         Duan blushes a bit before she sighs. It wasn’t her place to tell him the truth the monk guarded so fiercely. “I guess I can rest easy knowing that he has you for a protector.” Though it’ll be some time before they get on the same wavelength of emotion, Duan is sure they’ll do fine. The conversation peters out, and it gives them each a sense of closure, knowing the monk that they both love so dearly would be fine on the journey westward. Getting back to the house, they find that lunch has been served. Duan tugs her hood up before the youngest of disciples can catch a glimpse of her.

         A small smile is gracing her lips, but WuKong can see the tiredness settling into her features. Sharing a look with his master, the monk doesn’t call out to the woman. Instead, he goes about his meal and scolds Pigsy for eating too much while chiding Sha Monk to eat more. It was a regular meal for their group, it seemed. WuKong partook in it as well, eating what foods he could. His appetite could rival Pigsy’s at times, and it almost appeared as though he was trying to compete with the pig for how much food he was shoveling into his belly. It left the monk feeling helpless as his disciples seemed determined to eat their host out of her own home. But there always seemed to be more food, more drinks, and never ending patience from her.

         After managing to eat Pigsy under the table and nearly inducing a food coma into himself, WuKong makes himself busy for the rest of the day. It was difficult to return to his tasks when he just wanted to sleep, but he felt accomplished at the end of it all. Refilling their supplies, replenishing what food stuffs and water skins they had, WuKong is determined to make sure they were ready for the following day. Sanzang and his brothers didn’t notice his hard work, being distracted by their host. Night is quick to swoop in, and the last meal is cleared away.

         WuKong finds himself in the same room as Sanzang and Duan, a room separated from his brothers. He finds it a bit awkward for them to say such intimate goodbyes, just like the first time.  But it was the closure they’d never received, so he couldn’t blame them too much. Before Duan deigns to leave, she approached the grumbling Monkey, cupping his thin cheeks between her tiny hands.

         “Keep him safe,” she murmurs. “If not for me, then for yourself.” And she presses a kiss to his brow, gentle and sweet. It tingles a bit, because he can see her breath turn frosty when she pulls away. The breath of spirits was always cold. It’s with a gentle smile that the woman returns to star dust.

         Neither monk nor his disciple move. They did not sob, nor mourn for the woman who’d faded away. Even as the candles shrink and the flames turn to smoke, neither of them move. It’s only when the moon is heavily pregnant in the middle of the sky that one of them finally shifts. It’s Sanzang who moves first, getting up and feeling his joints crackle and groan.

         Stepping close to his first disciple, he’s surprised to see WuKong open his arms to him. But he does. And Sanzang accepts, tucking himself against the Great Sage’s side, letting the monkey pull him close. Aside from the rough texture of the Great Sage’s clothes, Sanzang feels the roughness of WuKong’s hands. They were calloused and warm, securing the monk to his side.

         There’s a distinct, masculine scent that Pilgrim Sun always carried. It was mixed with something charred, something spicy and something sour. But it was definitely his. It brought about a sense of comfort to the monk, even as the security that the monkey offered brought peace to his heart.

         It’s only because of the steady breathing, the warmth, and the odd quietness that the monkey offered that the monk was able to find sleep. He could come to terms with his decision. He could accept the consequences of his failures. But most importantly, he could finally accept that his love Duan was now gone and out of reach. It didn’t pain him as much as what he’d thought it would.

         He wasn’t sure if it was because of WuKong, but Sanzang found his eyes drifting to a close. And once the monk is asleep, the Great Sage tucks him a bit closer, his arms tight around Sanzang. Guan Shih Yin finds them this way, together and asleep in the corner of the room. Smiling, she drapes a blanket across them. “You’ve done well, Great Sage,” she murmurs. “Let’s hope that you’ll come to find the truth that lies inside Tripitaka’s heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a delay! Only a few more chapters left before we wrap this up!


	9. Jade

         It’s late in the morning when they get up. The sun is almost rise high, the clouds drifting on by lazily in the perfectly blue sky above. “Second brother,” Sandy says. He’s lying on his back, staring upwards as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “I have a question.” The fish wasn’t the smartest one of the group, and neither was the pig, but he figured he’d still ask anyways. Pigsy, who’d also been sleeping until this point, flops over. His snout is twitching and snorting as he wakes up for the day. He couldn’t care less for what the fish had to say, but he thinks he’ll listen for a moment. Though he couldn’t imagine it’d be important.

         “What is it, Brother Sha?” He just wanted to go back to sleep. He’d been dreaming of beautiful women and delicious foods he hadn’t tasted since his heavenly days. He’d been dreaming of colorful clouds, fragrant fields, and frolicking through them as the women fawned over him. It was the best of dreams, and he sorely wished to go back to sleep to resume such a thing. Rolling over again, he can see that morning had passed to noon. He sighs. Perhaps tomorrow he could continue his dream.

         “Do you notice anything odd about the sky?” The question is asked innocently, Sha Monk’s tone light. It’s such an odd question that Pigsy squints at the sky, watching the clouds overhead drift by for several minutes. The clouds themselves were a puffy, friendly kind of white that showed no threat of rain. They were being tugged by the most delicate of breezes, so slowly they moved. He’s silent still, observing the sky above them. It was the most perfect shade of a summer sky, so blue that it couldn’t be described by anything else other than a perfect topaz. The trees green leaves seemed to offer them a great deal of shade, and such a luxury is one that the pig was thankful for.

         “It’s the sky,” he snorts. “What’s so strange about the sky?” Stupid fish. WuJing doesn’t answer, humming instead and shrugging lightly. Maybe Pigsy was right, though WuJing feels as though something was missing. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was though, and simply settles in to watch the sky for a bit longer as he tries to piece together what was missing. Pigsy sits up, stretching and looking about. The trees were pleasant to look at, radiating a kind of aura that calmed him. He felt _safe_ here. And the feeling is a rare one, given what’s happened on their journey thus far.

         Big brother was propped up against such a tree, one knee brought up slightly as he leans against it coolly. Pigsy frowns. Why couldn’t _he_ look like that when he sits up next to a tree? He always looked like an apple with legs when he does that. His eyes lock onto what Monkey was so possessively holding against his side, his yellow furred arm being the only shield he could offer in his sleep. Master was there, his head leaning against WuKong’s shoulder and sleeping peacefully by the monkey’s side. It was good to see that they were alright, sleeping so peacefully together. He almost feels as though the concerns he and WuJing had had were unfounded.

         And then it’s like lightning struck Pigsy on top of his head, and he starts _squealing_ , waking everyone up in the group with his sudden panic. WuKong doesn’t bother to move, watching Pigsy work himself into a frenzy. Sha was alarmed, trying to frantically get information from the pig as he was screaming and flailing and incoherently babbling. As Sanzang yawns, WuKong’s arm tightens around the sleepy monk, keeping him in place. Was there danger nearby to cause such a panic? Were there demons nearby to cause such a ruckus in the group? The monk lifts his head to stare at the clearing.

         “ _The house! The house! The almsgiver! Where is it?! Where is she?!_ ” His frantic questions finally bring Sha Monk into the frenzy and they both begin yelling incoherently. WuKong watches, fighting down his grin and laughter that was beginning to bubble in his chest. Sanzang wanted to get up to calm both of his disciples, but he’s still pinned at his eldest disciple’s side. Giving him a sour look, he gestures towards both Sha Monk and Pigsy who were flailing in their panic. WuKong crunches his nose as if he were thinking before he shakes his head with a grin. Sanzang gives him a deadpan look, staring down the Monkey King who didn’t seem to care much about his brothers’ panic. “Master! _The almsgiver! The house! The other guest!”_

         Finally, Sanzang speaks. “It was a trial given to me personally by a celestial. The house, the other guest, and everything else was a part of it.” Pigsy and Sandy pause, staring at their eldest brother and Master with wide eyes. And they begin noticing several things. Big Brother was as calm as ever, his arm still wrapped tightly around the monk as if he planned to keep him there as long as he deems necessary. And Sanzang was allowing the bold action, as if it were one of the many antics that WuKong was usually performing.

         Sanzang continues, undeterred. “She must have decided that we were fine and left. With our minds set and our hearts adjusted, let’s continue our journey from where we’ve left off.” It’s only then that Monkey allows Sanzang to rise. With their packs filled and their hearts lighter than they once were, the pilgrims once more begin their journey westward. But this doesn’t conclude our tale. The Tang Monk and the Great Sage still have things to say to one another. Follow into the next chapter to see what closure is brought when two hearts are finally honest.


	10. Currant

         The Pilgrims continue their journey without any further issues from demons for a handful of seasons. It doesn’t mean their journey was without issues. As the summer continues forward, they eat various fruits and berries that they can find, fighting off hunger and thirst as best they can. WuKong was especially quick to get what they needed, but he couldn’t prevent what happened to Brother Sha. The poor fish had become overheated, and they lost nearly a week to the fish needing to rest and cool off in streams that ran nearby. When he was well again, they were off once more, passing through tiny trade posts and small villages until green leaves dyed themselves in shades of red and gold.

         As fall begins, Second Brother succumbs to the changing weather and falls ill as soon as they manage to reach a village in the middle of nowhere. Or rather, as WuKong explained, because maps weren’t _that_ accurate, it was somewhere on the way to India, it’s just unlisted. The village had exceptional healers, the very best in the area they’d heard—to which WuKong snorted and chuckled quietly—and Pigsy was absolutely delighted by this as they’d only seen women healers being so skilled. What he got, much to the enjoyment of the Great Sage, was an ancient woman who specialized in seasonal illness. Nut and grains and late vegetables kept the pilgrims full until the snow begins to claim the trails they needed to walk.

         In the winter, they had soups and pickled vegetables to keep them warm. And though their master would never know it, WuKong snuck himself and his brothers bits of meat where he could find it, knowing that it was because of their body heat and their strength that they got this far. But WuKong was not quite so sneaky as he thought he was, and though Master _did_ know, he turned a blind eye to it. He understood why they did so, though he didn’t need such a thing. It was also at this time that they discovered the Great Sage’s love of snow. The monkey was impossible to contain, diving into snowbanks and throwing snowballs and rolling around in the white fluff until he picked an obscenely large snowbank to dive into.

         It took a week to free the giggling king from his chilly prison.

         Spring comes and Sanzang falls ill once more. The illness forces him to battle fever and coughing fits so violent that WuKong noticed flecks of red appearing in the man’s hands. His disciples worked tirelessly to help him conquer his illness, ensuring his survival and returning him back to optimal health. The summer comes slowly, melting away the lingering snow and bringing to life the buds that’d stubbornly grown despite the cold. Sanzang’s illness dies with the sunlight that comes with summer.

         As they continue forward once more, he notes that WuKong’s affections had cooled slightly, and the monkey seemed to be aloof more often than not. It was strange, as he’d thought he’d settled matters with the Great Sage. But even as they sit around the fire, waiting on WuJing to cook the evening meal, he notices that Monkey was merely observing him, thoughtfully chewing on the stick that seems to always return to him no matter how many times Sanzang told him to throw it away. He didn’t linger close to the monk, much to Tripitaka’s heartache. And he suspected it was because he was still trying to gauge how _he_ was after Miss Duan’s passing.

         Despite these lingering thoughts, he helps set up the rest of camp. And takes a small trail when WuJing said it’d be a while longer before their meals are done. The path is well worn and comfortable to walk. And as the monk begins to tentatively explore, he can hear the shuffling of leaves nearby. He feels secure, knowing that it was WuKong following him. When the path opens up, it leads him to a lake that stretches out serenely to the sunset. The lake was dyed pink and orange with the sun’s dying rays.

         Taking it all in, he hears the crunch of dried brush under Pilgrim Sun’s feet as he takes a seat at the base of a tree close to the water. He appears serene, his heavy eyes peering over the calm lake. Sanzang wonders if it reminds him of home, wherever that could be. WuKong never spoke too much about himself now. “You haven’t been the same since the trial,” the monk murmurs. Turning his head, WuKong frowns as he stares at Sanzang.

         “You haven’t either. You’ve grown.” That much, he could say comfortably. And Sanzang approaches the King, taking a seat next to him. He’s seated right by his side, much like when the trial ended. WuKong wanted to reach out, wanted to pull him closer so it didn’t feel so awkward. It’s where the monk belonged, he thinks. But he crosses his arms, waiting for Sanzang to continue.

         It’s a small pause before the monk begins speaking. “The trial was for me to choose between my journey and what the celestial thought would make me happiest. I don’t think she realized that I am happiest _here_.” Pausing once more, he watches for WuKong’s reaction. The monkey wasn’t open, his expression carefully neutral and contained. It was _very_ much unlike the King he’d come to know. “I don’t know where you misunderstood my decision. But I chose my journey for a couple of reasons. The first because I have a mission I must complete. The second…”

         He drops his gaze then, staring at his fingers that were much too thin. They weren’t calloused like his disciples, and frequently, they smelled of ink. “The second is because I enjoy the person you’ve become. When you’re unweighted by the hatred, by your anger, you’re _amazing_.” Sanzang can feel himself shaking and couldn’t get a grip on it. He was so _scared_ , so **unsure** of what he was trying to get out that he pushes forward. “I like spending time with the person I’ve had the pleasure of seeing grow. And I want to spend more time with that person.”

         He holds his breath then. WuKong hadn’t said one word, and the stick that was in his mouth did not move. He waits. And waits. And waits some more. Patience was something that he was a master of, and he found himself unable to hold it much longer when WuKong finally _moves_. His arms uncross and he reaches out, pulling the monk to his side. His face is tired, but relieved. It seems as though the monkey had just returned from a battle so rigorous that he merely wanted to sleep now. But he plucks the stick from his mouth and tucks it into his clothes so he could speak properly.

         “I like spending time with you too,” he murmurs. “I was scared that you’d run back to stay with Duan. And that you wouldn’t let go of such grief.” Sanzang’s shaking had finally stopped when WuKong’s body heat began seeping through his clothes. “But Elder, I must admit… I’m not fond of being friends.” Eloquent and to the point, WuKong finally reveals what’d been burdening his heart. “I’d like to be more than that. If you dislike this, I won’t apologize for my honesty. Nor will I apologize for my feelings. But I’d like to know now so I can nurse myself back to health before we move forward.”

         The monk isn’t sure of how to proceed. Duan was also honest, but never so straight to the point as WuKong was. And though Sanzang was _sure_ he knew what he wanted, though he was _sure_ he knew what he’d say, he couldn’t find the strength to speak. His hands, however, could speak words for him. His lips, though unable to form words, could deliver a message that language could never quite capture. WuKong didn’t need to hear words to understand what Sanzang’s answer was.

         Both of them feel lighter as they begin to head back to camp, their fingers intertwined lightly. They were both sure that they would be able to move forward with this understanding between them.


	11. Epilogue: Transparent

         As years fade, slipping into one another, people change. Fashion trends start and end and restart again. It’s the way that time is, the way that humans are. And when one is immortal, there’s a choice to be had: To change with these times and blend in with humans to help where they can, or to go mad and lock themselves into legends that would be passed down from generation to generation.

         At least, that’s what was understood to the immortals of now. And that’s the knowledge they bring forwards with them to understand and meld themselves into humans now. Some immortals fade into memory. Others have melded so perfectly with humans that many couldn’t tell the difference anymore. That’s both where the story begins and ends.

         He was a well-dressed, well-spoken man. His amber eyes were just as charming as the grin that always curled his lips. His dark, messy hair was tied back to some sort of semblance of put together. His white button down shirt was open at the collar, and his vest was a deep burgundy. It went well with such finely pressed black slacks and polished shoes. On his right wrist was an old silver watch.

          “Grandpa Sun’s old watch always kept the time right. No need to be rid of it for something new.” One would assume he spoke fondly of a grandparent. And when asked he would start _howling_ with laughter without giving an answer. But it never bothered who he spoke to, as his charm would sway the conversation to whichever way he pleased. It’s the way he was, so smooth and polished and _warm_ that captivated whomever he spoke to.

         On his left ring finger was a gold band worn with time. There were no gems, no markings, but it did curl at one point looking as though it were a tiny crown on his finger. “The wife’s gonna get mad if I stay out late again. I always get a scolding when I do.” And, almost as if he were summoned, a bald male appears almost out of thin air. A matching ring adorned his hand, and the well-dressed man appears to be especially pleased.

         “WuKong, we should be heading home. Are you going to be harassing these people any longer?” The bald fellow is equally well dressed, though he wore a cardigan rather than a vest. And his shirt is a comfortable turtleneck instead of a button up. He appeared young, but his eyes spoke of being far older than what he truly was. He was rather unremarkable, and would remain so until WuKong had engaged him.

         With a sly wink to his audience, WuKong wraps an arm around the bald man’s waist. The bald man seemed to blossom in such a familiar touch, relaxing and tucking himself into WuKong’s side. It was a rather clear display of what their relationship was and what it meant to them. “Looks like the wife came to collect me after all. Alright, Sanzang. Let’s head home.” Home sounded rather good right now.

         As they meander their way towards where their home seemed to be, one could clearly overhear, “Are you _still_ calling me **wife**?”

         “Well, I feel better calling you wife than I do my husband. _I’m_ the husband, Baldy. I’m the one that _kills_ things and gets things done. **You** play nicely and plan and plot like a wife does. We’ve agreed on this already.”

         “That’s not very fair, WuKong! It’s not _my_ fault that I’m scared of spiders now!”

         Laughter comes from the dark haired male, loud and boisterous. It’s almost as if it were an inside joke that no one really knew. Sanzang flushes darkly, his teeth gritted with embarrassment.


End file.
